Those Who Inherit
by Yochanan Suishoukin
Summary: They don't want to live in their parents' shadows. Too bad it means going through an odd and harsh path, starting with the Sorting that went awry. 4. Tabula rasa: It is not so much starting anew as changing references. Who ever forgets?
1. The Red Snake

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you see on official sources._

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**Those Who Inherit**

**Year One: Chimera**

**_Chapter 1: The Red Snake_**

_There's blood, there's time, and there's the little deviant.  
_

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"_But why can't we just Floo to Hogwarts?"_

"_Because that's less dramatic?"_

"_To give a chance for the children to socialise before the house rivalry kicks in."_

"_Oh, not to wear the students out so by the Feast the teachers won't have to deal with them?"_

_--Hugo, Ron, Hermione, and Rose Weasley, Ask About Hogwarts #87_

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"Check it out, Rose; it's raining and sunny at the same time." 

She looked up from her book (_1__01 Ways to __Hex__ Your Arch-Nemesis_ and pushed her glasses up. The sky was as bright as it had been an hour ago, but now there was a rather fierce shower of water in between the golden ray. Well, they were in the middle of summer and winter. She said this to Al, who shook his head.

"It's still weird, you know." Now he was pressing his forehead on the window, looking at who-knows-what. In Rose's opinion, he was the weird one, getting so worked up on a regular weather like this. But perhaps, he didn't really have anything better to do. Their compartment was lonely with Aether, Al's owl, and Cantabile, her owl, asleep and James goofing off as soon as the train departed. Knowing Al, not even a good book could keep him quiet for the whole ride; two hours had been a record. She wondered why he hadn't gone off and tried to find their primary schoolmates, or why none had found them. All the better, actually, they were prone to be obnoxious to her.

"What are you reading?" She held up the book's cover to him, not that he didn't already know about it. "Oh, that." Al went back to staring through the window. One second later he went back to pestering her again. "Aren't you excited about Hogwarts?"

She clenched her teeth. It was a ridiculous question, considering how their relationship went and the amount of time they spent. "Of course I am. What, do you want me to jump up and down like Gonzales?" Well, fluttering and squawking would be a better description for James' noisy and pompous barn owl.

"No." Al tried hard—and failed—to hide his hurt. "But you haven't talked to me."

Her first instinct was to accuse him of doing the same thing; the second and better one was telling him, "I'm nervous, Al," and be done with it.

Al slumped in his seat. "Oh, yeah, definitely...hey, you know what—um..." In a flash, his expression changed from slightly depressed, to slightly brighter, and finally settling on apprehension; Rose couldn't help but smile at him.

"If it helps, I can't really understand the whole keeping the families separate thing." Well, not really, she did understand their reasons; she just couldn't see how that could be helpful.

Al bobbed his messy black head—the thing that distinguished him from the rest of the Weasley clan and also something she wished she had instead of her stare-inviting features. Then she mentally slapped herself; it was more than wrong to be envious of _Al._So she averted her gaze back to the book, ignoring Al's further descent in his seat.

_This spell, when cast properly, should result in the victim's--_

"He said the Sorting Hat considers your choice," Al continued as if there never had been a pause.

"Really?" Her curiosity was genuine; the Sorting was never discussed, not even in _Hogwarts: a History _or from anyone in the family. Fred and James, backed by Uncle George, had insisted it involved fighting a troll and the House was decided from how the student went against it. Fabian and Gideon had hinted that the Sorting was a test of the school subjects. She stopped asking about it then and there; there seemed to be a pact forbidding the first-years to know beforehand. Poor Al was driven mental by this. He seemed a lot more subdued during the ride, though.

"Yep, so I think I'll just chant 'not Slytherin' when the time comes."

"You know James was just taking the mickey out of you."

Al shrugged. "I still don't like it. Slytherin? You heard what Teddy said about them. I mean, I don't want to be in a house with people like them." He shuddered, as though (and she knew this was true) the idea alone terrified him. He stood, walking over to Aether. Under Al's poking, the owl still didn't budge. "Why on earth did we buy this one?"

"You fell in love with it on first sight," Rose deadpanned.

Al blanched. "It was James' fault."

"...How?"

"It's always James' fault."

At this point Rose grinned and returned to her book, leaving Al to bother his owl alone.

_--femurs to turn into raw bones, thus producing the eponymous jelly effect. The--_

Aether squawked so loud Rose's reflexively craned around to see the owl flapping furiously and Al sprawled on the floor, evidently having been scared badly himself; Cantabile joined in the racket. None of them had a chance to move before the door slid open, and yet another redhead was the cause of it. James slipped through the door like he was chased by the devil (or a vengeful victim, most likely) and nearly trampled Al. He leapt onto the seat and sprang to the baggage holders overhead, hauling himself up and somehow managed to squeeze himself in between Rose's and Al's trunk.

"Hide me!" He hissed. He was asking for the impossible: anyone could see his tuft of red hair between the trunk and the way they were arranged signified that there was something unwanted in between. Just as Al pulled himself up, the door admitted another intruder. Al stared, and nearly fell down again in laughter. Rose, too, openly snickered, for the sight was incredible: Victoire, usually blonde, pale, and tall, now she was yellow all over and she even had a beak; Rose only knew it was her oldest cousin because of the shiny Head Girl badge pinned on her robe.

Victoire pointed her wand at the trunk shelf. "James, get down here this instant!" Even her voice was very high-pitched and fluttery. Rose wondered which of the botched Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes James used this time.

James didn't; he probably thought if he stayed silent Victoire would think he wasn't really there. Silly James. Victoire's wand emitted a bang, making Al jumped and Aether hooting reproachfully. There was a slight ruckus when James scrambled down and nearly stepping on Al's head; Victoire's wand was trained on him all the time. The eldest Potter's usual grin was absent though probably not from so much actual repentance as to easing Victoire.

"I didn't mean it!" James explained, widening his eyes like an innocent puppy. "I mean, it was supposed to be Chloe, not you..."

Victoire was not convinced. "So it was meant for my sister. I'd still like to hex you."

James winced. "I'm sorry, and anyway I have the cure." He showed her a purple-colored pastille.

Victoire eyed it and James suspiciously, before finally taking it. "If this is another trick..."

"I swear on my--"

"You're not swearing on any of our relatives, dead or alive," Al piped up.

James shut his mouth, glaring at Al. Victoire's physique was slowly returning to her normal self. She spent a lengthy time checking every part of her body, during which James looked like he could not hold his solemnity any longer. Finally, Victoire nodded. James sighed. The two remained in the compartment.

"You're supposed to get out," said Victoire loftily.

"I am?" James went out anyway, his grin materialising. Rose wouldn't be surprised if James' intended victim had been Victoire all along, or if his motive was to get back at her for taking Teddy away. Victoire glared at his back until he was out of sight. "See you later in the Slytherin table, Al, after you've used your cunning to defeat the Sorting Troll!" James' voice suddenly hollered loud and clear. Victoire muttered a sentence composed by 'detention' and 'writing to Aunt Ginny' under her breath while Al slumped in his seat, his face whitening again. Rose herself felt like chasing James and trying one of the new hexes she had just read. Then Victoire turned around, looking as though she had just realised she was not chasing James into an empty compartment.

"Oh, hi, Al, Rose. Why are you here?" Victoire plopped down the seat next to Al, looking at the boy.

"Um, we're—"

"Oh, silly me, I meant, why are you not with the others?" Victoire reiterated, smiling slightly. "I almost forgot the two of you are entering this year too. Chloe's looking for you, actually," She said to Rose, who blinked.

"She is?"

"Well, not now, she's busy tearing into Fred or James, I swear." Victoire's grimace only accentuated her beauty, somehow. Veela genes, Mum told her. "They won't sit still until they get at least five detentions by the Sorting Feast."

Al gave a shaky laugh. Victoire looked at him oddly. "What's wrong?"

Rose looked at Al, hopefully conveying her annoyance right. "James--"

"What else?" Victoire snorted. "Well, come on, let's meet the others—I'm sure they're done by now." She got up and strode out of the compartment. Al and Rose looked at each other. Al nodded feebly, and together they followed their oldest cousin. She stopped in front of a door rather far away from theirs, and opened it slightly. When the only noise to penetrate was of people talking in normal volume, she opened it wider.

It was definitely Weasleys' compartment—the passengers had either red hair of varying degrees or freckles that spans from one end of the face the other. The only blonde in there—Chloe, Victoire's younger sister who couldn't look more alike, a fourth-year Gryffindor—jumped up and hugged Rose so suddenly she cringed.

"There you are!" Chloe released the hug and turned to Al, who had taken a few steps back. She spared him. "We were wondering if James had made you late and left you in the station somehow."

Al tried to smile; it looked like a grimace instead. "Well..."

Chloe pulled them and bodily seated them across her and next to Galahad, whose hair was normal again. In front of them, next to Chloe, were Fabian and Gideon, a pair of fourth-year cousins whose appearance was as different as day and night but were always considered together; the two of them were giving her the peculiar look she was growing accustomed to.

"Where are the others?" Al voiced her question as Victoire closed the compartment and sat next to the fourth-years.

"Ophelia's off who knows where," Chloe answered; her expression soured slightly, "the Bicorn Horns--"

"That's Freddie and Jamie," Fabian cut in, smirking. "Creative, eh?"

"_I_suggested that," Gideon mumbled.

Chloe glared. Anyone should have known better than to irk her. "Like I said, I hope someone can petrify them until we get to Hogwarts. I think Bizet and Romulus are with their own packs--"

Victoire sprang to her legs. "Okay, I promised them thirty minutes--"

"Fine, I don't care," Chloe said loudly. Rose doubted her sister even heard it; she was bouncing slightly as she made her exit. Chloe pouted the way Victoire always did. Quite abruptly it turned to a grin as she faced Rose.

"Anyway, you'll be in Gryffindor." It was said with such finality that Rose was taken aback.

"Every Weasley's a Gryffindor," chortled Fabian.

"It nearly put me in Hufflepuff," Gideon muttered.

Fabian waved impatiently. "But you're wearing red now, right?" He turned to the youngest cousins. "Then again the Sorting Hat's been a bit barmy these days."

Gideon elbowed him. "They're not supposed to know!"

"Says who?"

"What the idiots are trying to say," Chloe overrode both of them, "is that you'll definitely be in Gryffindor, and we'll make an all-Weasley Quidditch team! We need a Seeker." She was beaming at the possibility of such team.

Rose was not, and neither was Al. Her poor cousin's green eyes had swollen to the size of plates, and Rose felt a strong urge to get back into her own compartment.

"There's James," Gideon pointed out. Al's older brother had announced it rather boldly during Christmas that he was going to try as Seeker.

"He's rubbish," Fabian argued.

"He's not!" Al objected suddenly, surprising everyone as Al normally wouldn't argue with his elders. The situation was worse; the fourth-year pair was particular to objection. Gideon and Fabian had a condescending look that made Al squirmed.

"Fine, so he's a good flyer," Chloe intervened, glaring at the older pair, "but he can't Seek for his life. Tell him to stick to a Beater."

"_Reserve_ Beater."

"Tell him then," Rose piped up.

Fabian fixed them with a glare that reminded her why she tended to avoid him whenever they had grand family meetings.

"I—I think I'll change", Al said, bolting out of the compartment door. Without hesitation Rose dashed after him, ignoring the shout of, "What, are you changing _together_?" They only stopped after they arrived at the compartment. For a moment both said nothing, Al fumbling with his trunk and Rose leaning on the door with closed eyes.

She supposed it was an inescapable truth; Dad had said it proudly every time a cousin was sorted into Gryffindor. It was in the blood, he boasted, and they were probably descended from Godric Gryffindor himself, so not being in Gryffindor was the same as being disowned. It still felt wrong to her, that personality traits could be passed down through blood just like freckles and hair and eye colour. But then, wouldn't that actually give her a chance to escape, then, discoloured as she was? No one else had heterochromia or strands of colours not related to the dominant dark red…

"Um, he's right, you know." Her eyes snapped open, not expecting Al to speak. He smiled warily. "I'll change alone, if possible."

She mouthed 'O' and made to step out. The door opened on itself and Rose ran into—almost knocking down—the stranger. Her glasses went all the way up to her forehead and the two of them nearly tumbled on top of each other.

"Sorry," she mumbled, steadying herself. She stepped back. "I—"She stopped, for she definitely didn't expect running into this intruder. It was a blond boy who was already in his school robe, the very same one her father had told her to beat in every test, and his grey eyes was locked onto hers; his pointed face betrayed a kind of shock. With a jolt she remembered that her glasses were not covering her eyes, and she quickly pulled it down, snarling at him. "What are you looking at?"

His expression was quickly schooled. "I'm sorry, I'm looking for—"He trailed off, his gaze lingering on something behind her shoulders this time.

"Yes?" She snapped, wanting very much to be left alone right now. Dad had never talked about the Malfoys in a nice way, much to Mum's consternation.

The pale face blanked again. "My owl. Your brother has it."

"My brother?" Al echoed.

"Yes. The other Potter." The reply was slightly impatient.

"How'd you know, Malfoy?"

He regarded her for a second. "The same way you know me, I assume. From our parents."

Rose snorted. "You're accusing my cousin of theft."

Scorpius sighed. "Considering that I saw him loitering in front of my compartment suspiciously, yes."

She couldn't help but smirk. Pranks, yes, taking the mickey out of everyone, yes, but James was not a thief. "Then I'd be more worried of what that owl's going to do to you."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Al had moved to stand beside her and suggested, "Maybe it's back already. James is probably just trying to make you go spare."

Malfoy appeared thoughtful. He turned to leave.

"Wait! I'll come with you!" Rose stared at Al. "Just in case. This is James we're talking about."

"And who is usually the victim?" Rose muttered under her breath, but followed anyway. As keen as she was to heed her father regarding Malfoy, she couldn't bear leaving Al alone with him.

Malfoy's compartment was near the Weasleys'. When they arrived, both Al and Malfoy stared at the door apprehensively, as if expecting it to bite at them. Rose huffed and rolled her eyes, volunteering to open the door. It looked normal beside the fact that Malfoy seemed to be the only occupant, and there was an eagle owl staring at them from its cage.

"It's still here," she said smugly.

Malfoy frowned. "It definitely wasn't here a while ago."

Al timidly moved closer to the owl; its yellow eyes were wide and unblinking. Just staring at that owl gave her an uneasy prickling on the back of her neck. "Well, this is James we're talking about, so he might have laid a trap."

"Or he's just trying to make him running around," Rose quipped. There was something wrong with that owl, and that was both her feeling and her head talking.

Al scratched his head. "Could be..."

"Al, don't--!"

Her warning came too late; Al had touched the cage. With a soft bang, putrid blue smoke wafted from the cage. It was a stink much worse than the Burrow's ghoul, a crate of dungbombs and a skunk put together; it was and Rose felt suffocated. Her eyes tearing, she snatched Al's sleeve and bolted out, the Malfoy kid close to her heels; the three of them coughing and wheezing.

They were half-running, and even then it took some time and some distance before her nose could detect the scent of rain and the blue hue was out of her sight. Bile formed on her throat and she pushed it down--no need to add her share to the sickness. Unfortunately, she could hear Al retching. She let him go just in time for him to vomit on the floor.

Rose pinched her nose and looked away, fishing into her pocket for her wand, at the same time racking her memory. It wasn't exactly on Mum's list of first-year spells, but...

She pointed her wand at Al's general direction, still not looking. "_Scourgify._" She felt the magic flowing through her wand and Al's tiny 'sorry' told her she could turn around. She was pleased to find that her spell had indeed worked and Al's state of helplessness was not her fault. Her cousin was sitting on the floor, panting and very much flustered. Malfoy, in contrast, was standing upright with his pale cheeks slightly pink and his once-slicked hair ruffled. For some reasons she thought he was more appeasing to the eyes this way; he looked more like normal human instead of a porcelain doll.

There was a noise right beside her head and she stepped away from it, wand almost raised. She had been standing beside a compartment's door which was now opened and revealed Ophelia, staring straight at the three of them. The third-year's face was scrunched in an expression not unlike Uncle Percy's worst face.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing, running around and making noises?" She questioned bossily, her eyes were especially boring on Rose and her half-raised wand.

Rose, having just remembered about it now, quickly stowed the piece of wood into her pocket. "You don't need to know." Rose had had quite enough of her cousins' company and intrusion at the moment, even if Ophelia could do some good to James.

Ophelia was now staring at Malfoy who, Rose was pleased to notice, looked slightly unnerved. "Did you get in a fight? We're just halfway through to Hogwarts--"

"We're not fighting," Rose replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh? What then?" That was said not by Ophelia, but by another Weasley behind her. Rose's heart leapt slightly at the sight of him. Bizet Weasley was a stark contrast to Ophelia, from his complexion and colouring down to his manner of standing and expression; Rose looked at him instead of Ophelia. She still couldn't tell him though.

"The usual," Al answered vaguely.

Ophelia continued staring at Malfoy as though blaming him for the trouble, which was not far from the truth. Bizet grinned.

"Oh, well, that settles it," he said cheerfully, "what about sitting with us? Or." He eyed Malfoy. "Are you too ashamed to sit with your older cousins?"

"Course not."

But Ophelia had already caught on. "It's James, isn't it? Or Fred?" She hissed. "What did those little twits do this time?"

Considering that Ophelia was still slightly shorter than James and Fred, or even Rose for that matter, she really had no right to call them 'little'.

"And you still haven't answered my question," Ophelia demanded from Malfoy. "Well?"

Malfoy sighed and looked at her. "If you must know—"

"He's with us!" Al quickly said, tugging at Malfoy's and Rose's sleeves. "And we'll just get to our compartment—sounds like you have enough people in there."

Ophelia looked like she wanted to object, but Al was so persistent he was somehow able to drag his two companions away. Malfoy was soon released because he was eager enough to walk on his own; Rose wanted explanation.

"I thought you said everything's James' fault."

Al shook his head fervently. "I'm not going to give them a chance to have a go at each other again."

"Oh, this has happened before?" Malfoy drawled, sounding curious.

"Do you want to be a Weasley?" Rose snapped, finally agreeing to just follow Al. "Then shut it. Why are you following us?"

Malfoy sighed again, with that irritatingly drawn out way of his. "My compartment's inaccessible for the moment, remember? I don't exactly want to check it right now."

"You can stay with us," Al said right at the same time Rose said, "then find someone else's." She glared at him. He simpered. "It's sort of my fault too."

She scowled, but wordlessly opened the door and sat down at her seat, making sure that Malfoy couldn't sit beside her; he made a beeline to sit beside Al anyway. Cantabile had woken up and was fluttering up and down; it was even wilder now that it found human companions. Aether, his sleep disturbed by the Scops, squawked reproachfully. Rose thought of Malfoy's owl. It was unusually quiet and didn't seem to even realise there were people with it. She would have to ask Fred and James later—it seemed a bit specialised in its design to be a Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze.

"What did you do to James anyway?" She asked out of curiosity, the motive was still missing to her.

Malfoy regarded her with an odd expression. "I told you, I didn't do anything. I hadn't even known his name before meeting you two."

She snorted in disbelief but chose not to chase the matter further, instead she continued her reading. She had an inkling she would need an array of hexes soon enough. Malfoy and Al started their own conversation so she was left to her own devices, which was what she wanted.

Half a book to go…

The door interrupted her again; they must have chosen a jinxed compartment because no one could seem to just leave them alone. At least this time it was a witch with a trolley full of food. At that point Rose's stomach reminded her it was mostly empty. Al bought quite a lot of candies; she bought half as much candy and a bit more cake, but she noticed that Malfoy didn't have anything, though he kept staring at the trolley forlornly. Once the witch left, Al asked him why.

"I'm not hungry," he said defiantly. A low growl came from his direction. Rose couldn't resist a smirk as Malfoy did his best to keep a stoic face.

"You can have some of mine," Al offered.

Malfoy looked hesitant.

"Just pay him later when you can get a hold of your wallet." Rose threw half of her Cauldron Cake at Cantabile, hoping it would shut him. She returned to her book, absently gnawing at a Liquorice Wand. The two boys were back to being merry with each other, Malfoy's features had actually softened enough for even her to see. He was talking as much as Al was, which was quite a feat because whenever she and Al had a conversation, Al would be hogging most of the words.

Rose bit her lower lip. Of course, she had implied that she didn't want to talk to Malfoy or that she preferred her book to Malfoy, but…

How quick of Al to turn his back on her.

She gnashed her teeth silently. Mum had said--among her plethora of advices given incessantly during the journey to King's Cross--that she couldn't depend on her cousins. She would gladly let go of the other cousins, but she had always expected Al to stay by her side during their school days.

_He's just another cousin. _But he wasn't. Al had always been a bit more special, almost a twin to her…

And Malfoy took him away.

The door opened, again, accompanied by a riot of laughter. She sighed inwardly, bracing herself for any other members of the Weasel clan—the laughter was a great clue. It was James and Fred, the ones she had thought would be uncharacteristic if they didn't meet in the train at all. If she squinted, the two of them could be similar enough to pass as fraternal twins, though James' hair kept sticking up no matter what and there was a slight discrepancy in their height. Malfoy and Al stiffened slightly at the sight of them. James and Fred finally stopped laughing when they noticed Malfoy.

"Oh, he's here. Good," Fred said, grinning ear to ear. "Oy, Malfoy, how did you like it?"

"And what," James continued, slightly tersely, "are you doing with my innocent brother and cousin?"

Malfoy's grey eyes widened considerably. "What—"

"Poisoning their minds, eh?" James snapped, his bespectacled eyes suddenly blazing. "Not enough you mess with us, you're messing with them too?"

"Wha—"

"What do you mean?" Al squeaked.

James jabbed finger at Malfoy. "Oh, you know, just being a Malfoy, like what Uncle Ron said."

For some reasons this hardened Malfoy's jaws. "Like what?" He seethed.

Fred looked at him pityingly while James sneered. "Must I say it? There are too many to count."

Malfoy made a face. Al, oddly enough, nearly did the same. Had James, for once, had the right idea? Most likely, because why else would Al agree with him so quickly? On the other hand, this was James, the cousin who liked to take the fun out of everything and everyone. But James she had never seen him this solemn, or Al this upset…

"Well, Malfoy? Anything in self defence?" James inquired, his right hand reaching into his pocket—into his wand, she realised.

Malfoy's lips curled and his eyes narrowed—the most deviations from his stoic face that Rose had ever seen. She half-expected him to snarl or roar in James' face; he just tightened his face and tried to get out, only that Fred wouldn't let him.

"Running away, are we?" Fred's grip on Malfoy's shoulder was vice-like. Malfoy slapped his hand and without hesitation marched out, slamming the door shut after him. "Coward, just like your father!" Fred hollered to the corridor.

"What about his father?" Rose asked, both out of curiosity and to squash an odd feeling she had after seeing Malfoy's departure. It was the feeling she often had when she told Hugo to leave her alone.

Fred turned to her, his lips curved. "Ah, that's nothing." Rose frowned inwardly. This was not like Fred's usual feigning-innocence nothing. In fact, it sounded very much like how her parents would dismiss Al's questions about why people kept staring at them.

Said cousin was currently best described as sulking with mouth pouting and arms folded. "James, what exactly did Scor do?" He demanded, a bit more forcefully than usual. James didn't seem to notice; he was suddenly grinning.

"Oh, that. Do you really believe that?"

"What do you--" Al's eyes widened. "You mean you _lied_?"

James rolled his eyes. "Al, my boy," he said with a tone reserved for toddlers, "half of fun lies in imagination and lucky guess--and you see the look on his face! I bet he actually did something to someone." James' eyes had a manic gleam to them. Al's were flashing with anger and hurt, and James finally noticed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, half of the cheeriness evaporating. Fred looked at Al as though he had just grown a second head.

Rose wouldn't mind knowing what was wrong with everyone in the compartment.

"You are!" Al cried with such a force everyone was taken aback. "Get out."

"What?"

"Out!" The door, previously shut tight, was slid open with a resonating 'bang'--the window was broken as well, and the owls made noises--and the same invisible force responsible for the door pushed James and Fred to the direction of the door. They staggered, grabbing the threshold for balance while it tried to shove them out.

Rose leapt out of her seat and grabbed Al's shoulders, shaking him. "Al, stop it! You're going to hurt them."

Al's face, contorted in anger, snapped to daze and then to horror. He panicked jumped to James' side. "I'm sorry!"

Both James and Fred looked dishevelled and shell-shocked, though James brushed Al off. "Never you mind," He said in faked calmness, "We'll see you later." He pulled and dragged Fred, who stared oddly at Al. Al made a jerk, perhaps to help James, but he didn't move.

Once they were out of sight, Al slumped into his seat, his face white and his green eyes were slightly glassy. Rose sighed, setting down next to him. "They deserve it, you know. Their pranks can be rather cruel. Though." She looked at him sharply. His head swivelled to face hers. "You did overreact."

Al made a noise. "Did I?" He said, voice pitch high. "They practically bullied him!"

"They did, but for all we know Malfoy could have really done what James insinuated."

"No, he could not!" Al was expression, normally soft was now staunch and rigid. "He wouldn't have!" Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have openly defied James like the show earlier either...

Was Dad right in telling her not to associate with the kinds of Malfoy?

"So you trust someone you have just met more than your own brother?" She said flatly. "Even after what we've been told about the Malfoys?"

Al looked at her as though she had just said he should throw himself out of the window. "Not you too! Scor is very harmless, you know!"

She didn't need to verbally answer. Al stared at the floor.

"I should probably apologise to him," he said in a very small voice which, if she hadn't been used to listening to him, could have been dismissed as a trick made by the rail's friction or the owls' incessant chirping.

She still couldn't believe he had just said that. "What or why."

He looked at her; she saw with trepidation the determination etched on his face. "He's not his father."

"He's his father's son," she countered stubbornly, "like it or not, some things must have been passed down."

"Like what?" He was back to half-screaming again. Rather than subduing her, Al was suddenly very irritating to Rose.

"I don't know." In contrast to him, her tone was flattening. "How do _you_ know or defend him after just thirty minutes of talking?" Al refused to look at her.

She was suddenly aware that the rain had stopped, that the sun had won at last, and that the temperature in the compartment had dropped regardless.

Rose thought Al had abandoned the idea until he suddenly slid down to his feet and made the move to exit. For a second she was too stunned to object.

"Al!"

He didn't turn--didn't dare to, she realised, but he did stop. She let out a small breath.

"James is right." She stared at his back incredulously. Al's voice had never been this flat. "You are cold and heartless."

The door was slammed shut in his wake.

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_More info are likely to be found in my homepage._


	2. Standard Deviation

**Chapter 2: Standard Deviation**

_Sometimes, to make a distinction means to be so far out of the bounds that the mean is then non-reflective of the others._  


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"_So, er, how's the Sorting again?"_

"_You have to fight a troll. Or a hellhound. Or an Acromantula. Depends on Hagrid's mood."_

"_Hagrid's not that mean!"_

"_Oh, fine, so depending on McGonagall's mood—"_

"_Mum! James is lying again!"_

_--James, Albus, and Lily Potter, Misinformation Session #53_

* * *

The compartment was very quiet for the rest of the journey, not a single human entered and not even Aether or Cantabile made a ruckus. Rose had made it to the last of her second book (_Duelling for Beginners) _when a voice rung, telling the students to prepare for their arrival at Hogwarts. The torrents of emotions and nervousness that she had been able to block during the ride returned with revenge as she shuffled with the rest of the students to exit the Express. The first years, noticeably very small and scrawny compared to their seniors, were all as shaky—and more—than her. They were also huddled closely together; everyone seemed to have at least one other peer to pair with. Rage boiled within her, but she shook it, choosing to focus on not getting flattened by the older students instead. She had promised herself she would always give Al the benefit of the doubt, no matter how illogical his actions always seemed to be. 

It was dark outside without only a little light coming from the carriages and the train. She wondered if she should follow the seniors.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

She snapped her head around. Standing far taller than everyone else, with his lantern swinging and his voice bellowing above the chattering was Hagrid, who waved and beckoned. A smile tugged at her lips as she made her way to him. It turned upside down when she noticed a very familiar blond boy, his pale face reflecting Hagrid's light, standing agape at the half-giant. _Probably scared of a half-breed_, she thought bitterly. Al stood next to him and was talking to both Hagrid and Malfoy.

That little snitch, abandoning her for a stranger they had clearly been told to not associate with.

Her desire to call out to Hagrid died, so she quietly positioned herself so that she was behind everyone else. She was particularly covered by a pudgy blond boy taller than her and a boy with brown curly hair.

"Everyone here? Righ', follow me!"

They shuffled forward wordlessly, except for the two boys in front of her who kept up a whispered discussion. Trying to distract her overactive mind from thinking about Al, she listened to their conversation.

"—some kind of induction, I think. The older kids are using some other means—" The curly-haired boy said.

His pudgy friend shrugged. "I know that. Reckon it's got something to do with this Sorting?"

"Obviously, otherwise they wouldn't fuss."

They were traipsing through a narrow and steep road. There was no light on either side of the path and the only light was in Hagrid's hand—she kept thinking of shoving the boys to move faster, otherwise she would be left out in the dark. As soon as she wondered where it would end, Hagrid spoke, "And here's Hogwarts! Ain' she a beauty?" Around a bend, the narrow path opened into an edge of a great, dark lake. Across the lake, perched on the top of a mountain, was the castle of Hogwarts. There were open 'oh' and 'ah' sound from around her—the two boys in front of her were gaping—and she agreed partially. Hogwarts looked magnificent, from its ancient look to its almost visible aura to its location—nothing less from the only magical school in Britain.

"Four in a boat, no more 'n tha'!" Hagrid's call brought her attention to him and the direction he was pointing at: a fleet of boat on the shore of the lake. Despite her resolve, she searched for Al, and her apprehension was proven, Al was visibly shaking at the sight of the lake. For a moment she almost obeyed her impulse to run up and comfort him, but then Hagrid helped him climbing into the boat with Malfoy and another student in tow. It was far harder to suppress her anger this time so she was rather brisk as she made her way into the only boat left. The two boys from before were in it, as well as a brunette who couldn't seem to stop wringing her hands.

"Everyone in? Off we go!"

The boat lurched forward and started moving slowly in a formation with Hagrid's boat as the spearhead. Rose's companions gave a uniform gasp; she thought she knew why.

"Uh, are you, er, Muggleborns, too?" The girl spoke timidly.

"Yes," the stocky boy answered in alarm, "how did you know?"

The girl looked flustered. "You were surprised when the boat moved. I don't think wizard-raised children would do that...would they?"

The brown-haired boy nodded contemplatively. "Makes sense. I'm Zoltán."

Rose almost snorted. And she thought her mother's name was rather terrifying. It was quite the tandem for 'Perdita', a name she found on her parents' potential baby name—and it was circled.

"Sorry. I'm Frieda," the girl offered.

"Tyson," the pudgy boy grunted. The three of them turned to Rose. She sighed mentally.

"Rose. And I'm not a Muggleborn." At their wary glances she added, "My Mum is." They still looked cautious. She had hoped the pureblood-mania her parents had encountered during their school days had vanished, but apparently it was too much to ask.

Against her better judgment, her eyes went back to Al. He was no longer shaking, but his head was now pressed onto his tights. Malfoy was just sitting beside him; it irked her: Malfoy was the one Al chose to sit with when it was supposed to be her, and then the git did nothing!

"So you know about Hogwarts? More than us, at least," Frieda asked a bit distantly. She snapped her attention back at her, glad for the distraction.

Zoltán was the quicker one to reply. "You can actually know from reading _Hogwarts: a History_," he said somewhat loftily, "it's available even for us Muggleborns."

Rose turned her head to them—she had been refusing eye contact by watching Hogwarts getting closer—and saw, even with the poor lighting, Frieda's creeping blush. As much as she thought every student should at least skim through the book (especially if they wanted to _survive_), the way he talked made it as if not reading the book was a crime. She didn't like that.

Tyson didn't either, apparently. "Not everyone's a bookworm, Zolt. You ought to can it."

Zoltán didn't answer. None of the four made a sound so her eyes drifted back to Hogwarts's looming figure, approximately just five minutes away. The butterfly in her stomach that she had been able to subdue hitherto returned with full force. The sorting would be here soon enough. She duly wondered how long the Hat would take before sorting her into Gryffindor. Another red head, and a Weasley to boot, into the house of the red lion. "_If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disown you." _How much of that was just a joke, and how much of that was serious? With Mum things were always said as they were meant, but Dad was slightly unpredictable, there were times when she had thought he was just joking but it turned to be serious.

"I didn't mean it, you know."

She came close to blurting out and asked what he was talking about. Then she realised he was probably still thinking about the exchange before. She shrugged it off—it was not related to her in any way. But whatever reply her fellow might have had was drowned by the fact that the boats had softly bumped against ground, followed by Hagrid's bellow of "Watch yer steps!" Her queasiness had nothing to do with the rocking boat and everything to do with the Sorting. As they lined up, Hagrid knocked the great door. A tiny, wrinkled wizard introduced himself as Deputy Headmaster Flitwick, gave a few words about waiting quietly while the Sorting Ceremony was being prepared; he also told the students about the houses: Gryffindor for the brave and the bold (or the reckless, seeing as that was what every Weasley had in common), Ravenclaw for the wise and studious (in James' words, the stuck-up know-it-all with zero social capabilities), Hufflepuff for the fair and loyal (again, her cousins agreed on 'the bland lot'), and Slytherin for the cunning and ambitious (or the slimy gits and family enemies).

The Muggleborns in her boat were all looking at each other in trepidation--she was pleased to know she was not the only one. Her eyes inadvertently drifted to Al, who was very white and shaky, no doubt James' taunts chose the wrong moment to haunt him; Rose would have loved to strangle James. She contemplated coming closer to Al, maybe offering whatever support she could give--

The door opened again. Professor Flitwick beckoned, and in one line they marched in--Rose rather thought her feet were moving on their own. There were four long tables--one for every House, presumably--and one table at the very front for the Professors, all of them were occupied by staring eyes, which didn't help her confidence at all. On the High Table, Neville caught her eyes and winked. She tried to smile back, but her muscles froze on their own accord.

"The ceiling!" Frieda murmured faintly from behind. Rose snapped her eyes upward: the ceiling was as dark as the sky outside. _It_was_enchanted to reflect the outside_, she amended to herself, feeling rather stupid for forgetting about that.

Closer to the earth, and in the middle of the room was a dirty and patchy hat which looked like it had been chucked into a fireplace. It looked harmless, until it suddenly straightened, a rip opened, and it sang.

_Oh, I assure you, these are not decoration_

_These scars are reminder of the old_

_Of the war and the blood it shed_

_And of the divide that is caused by the blood_

_For peace it may be at present_

_War it is always between peaces_

_The Houses were meant to be constructive, you see_

_The Founders thought it'd be easier_

_If brave Godric reigned in the bold_

_The courageous and the dragon-hearted_

_Wise Rowena knew how to deal_

_With those intelligent and studious_

_Magnanimous Helga accepted all_

_Protected the loyal with her claws_

_Cunning Salazar kept his eyes_

_On the resourceful and ambitious_

_Years, a thousand and more_

_Is unity that hard to come by?_

_For divided we fall, but united we stand_

_Hogwarts shall stand when_

_Her four pillars should support her_

_And Sort you I shall_

_For it is my task!_

_And remember, do not tickle the sleeping dragon!_

"That thing's going to Sort us?!" Tyson whispered under all the clapping and mutterings. Rose quite agreed--mind-reader or not, she couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that a hat was going to decide what and how she would grow into for the next seven years. The song bothered her slightly—the Hat gave an impression of an impending storm, though there wasn't supposed to be one. Her family had made sure of that.

Professor Flitwick unrolled a scroll and began reading the names.

"Ackroyd, Roger!"

A thin and slightly frail-looking boy swaggered his way to the stool—Roger Ackroyd, one of her schoolmate. It was odd seeing the normally boisterous boy being nervous and jittery. Professor Flitwick slipped the Hat, much too big for his head, and it slid down to his collarbone. Before long, the same rip on the Hat opened and from it came "GRYFFINDOR!" The Gryffindors were particularly raucous when they cheered for him.

"Avery, Marvolo!"

A small boy with button-nose and sandy blonde hair staggered, nearly throwing himself off balance as he sat down.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table clapped while the Gryffindors looked slightly revolted. Avery darted to his new table, looking much more confident than before. Al had said that the Hat gave choices. Did it truly? It didn't seem to take long to Sort those kids, not to mention the fact that no Weasley had been Sorted somewhere other than Gryffindor...

"Clogg, Carabog!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cresswell, Dirk!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Dinoti, Frieda!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Dudley, Tyson!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Ellsworth, Murtaugh!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Estefan, Gracia!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Granger, Zoltán!"

Zoltán stepped forward. Granger, she wondered wildly, as in Hermione Granger? If so, how would he be related to her? Aunt Cordelia definitely was too young to have a son, and Mum didn't have another sibling. Most likely someone in the distant part of her extended relatives, especially since the only ones she knew in her Muggle-side family were her grandparents and Mum's much younger sister, Cordelia.

"RAVENCLAW!"

She mentally made it a task to include this revelation in her letter home.

"Kaminogi, Izanagi!" A Japanese boy, judging by his bizarre name, stepped up and was Sorted "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Kaminogi, Izanami!" Rose almost thought Professor Flitwick had made a mistake and called the Japanese's name twice until a girl bearing great resemblance from the new Gryffindor plopped herself on the stool. This one took much longer than the others, and when she was finally announced "SLYTHERIN!", Rose was left feeling slightly surprised. They looked like fraternal twins, so why would they be Sorted into different Houses, as different as Gryffindor and Slytherin?

She was so wrapped up in her thought that when "Malfoy, Scorpius!" was called, it startled her. She had apparently missed some of the Sorting. _Not that they matter._

Malfoy was possibly even paler than his natural colour when he sat down and had the Hat slid down his head. For reasons that completely escaped her, Rose was holding her breath. Hopefully they wouldn't end up in the same House...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

No one clapped. In fact, nearly everyone wore the same gobsmacked expression. Professor Flitwick recovered the fastest; he lifted the Hat off Malfoy and shooed him to his new table. Malfoy's eyes were wide and unfocused as he made his way. He sat on one end of the table (the closest to him had scooted away as fast as possible), and then some of the older students clapped half-heartedly.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and called

Malfoy, the shoe-in for Slytherin, was sorted into Gryffindor. Dad would go spare if he knew.

_"He is not his father."_

_Who were you talking about, Al? You, or him? Or me?_

Again she missed some names; logically there should be at least one or two between Malfoy and "Potter, Albus!"

The Hall broke into small whispers and furtive glances. Al's fame had apparently preceded him as well. She took a deep breath and hoped fervently the Hat would be wise this time. Her shaken and panic cousin--now under the Hat--did not, and could not, resemble the description everyone gave of the Slytherins (if she wanted to be honest, Malfoy didn't either). He was actually more of a--

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The clapping was slightly slower to start compared to the others, but once it started the Hufflepuffs made the loudest noise. She let out her breath and stole a glance at the Gryffindor table. James looked slightly shocked as his hands made to clap. Al was no longer pale when he sat down at his House's table between some older students who thumped his back repeatedly. He simpered and turned. For a second their eyes met. She felt her face loosening in a smile, before his averted gaze made her stiff glowering again. He was being stupid again. For a moment she was glad he was Sorted into Hufflepuff, because she was quite certain that she wouldn't fit.

Then again, people like Malfoy and Al had been Sorted where no one had ever predicted...

"Rochester, Jane!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Selwyn, Eleanor!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Selwyn, Iselia!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Yet another set of twins, this time identical twins, who were not Sorted together. A policy, perhaps? Remembering that Uncle George and the late Uncle Fred had been Sorted into the same House, apparently the House didn't Sort people based on lineage. It made sense. Which would made Al correct. Or not, he still abandoned her.

"Weasley, Galahad!"

Uncle Percy's youngest son didn't look too pompous as the Hat slid down his face. It took its time--she was debating whether she wanted it to go faster or slower; he was second to the last before her. She was so nervous her mind had reached its numb state and blocked out all emotion.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Galahad joined the cheering crowd of redheads. Which meant that "Weasley, Romulus!" was next, and it would only be her.

"GRYFFINDOR!" 'All Weasleys go to Gryffindor' seemed to be the general rule of life. By then, even the Gryffindors looked a bit subdued in their cheering.

"Granger-Weasley, Rosalind!"

Like a robot the Muggles were very fond of, she strode to the centre of the Hall with equal length of strides, sat on the chair with back extremely straight, and resignedly closed her eyes when the Sorting Hat covered her face.

_"What do we have here? Another Weasley, and yet...not exactly so...I didn't make a mistake with Mr. Malfoy's and Mr. Potter's Sorting, you know."_

She nearly snorted aloud. _Fine, so Al might be a good fit. Malfoy?_

_"Is as much a Gryffindor as your family. As you have realised, it is not easy to Sort eleven year olds--there are too many variables to count."_

_Oh._

_"Yes, some of them are fairly easy, like the majority of your cousins. Some requires a bit of prediction and foraying, like your mother and uncle. Some are just downright difficult. Like you."_

Now she was intrigued. People had, after all, kept trying to convince her that she was either a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. _Really? How so?_

_"You are quite complex. Your growth is even more complicated. You can do well wherever I put you."_

So even the mighty Sorting Hat didn't know where to put her. She remembered a bit too late that it could read her mind.

_"To answer your scepticism, I've been telling them this is getting ridiculous, this Sorting."_

_Wait, is that why you're taking so long? You're chatting with them?_

The Hat chuckled. _"I am biding my time. A thousand year gives me a good practice on multi-tasking. You are difficult, but I think...any preferences?"_

She thought. From Grandmum and Granddad Weasley down to James Potter, nearly everyone had worn the red and gold, even Mum. This year, there were ten of them, not to mention the younger ones not yet in Hogwarts. Surely one less in their ranks would not be a great loss. Had she ever been one of them? Her hair, red as blood, had none other to match; her eyes were too indecisive to be considered bad luck—and now that she remembered it, it was her cousins who first introduced her to that horrid fairy tale.

_Not Gryffindor._

"_Are you sure? You can't change your decision after this."_

_Not Gryffindor, _she repeated with conviction. She could almost feel the Hat smirking, as odd as that was.

"_Wise choice, my dear. You are loyal and hardworking with the proper stimulation, but not fair and forgiving enough to be a Hufflepuff. You are clever, far too clever than ordinary, and your curiosity is quite insatiable, but you do not believe in pursuit of knowledge for its own sake."_

Her eyes widened. She knew where this was going. _Wait!_

"_I have given you your choice. You are brave and rather noble, Gryffindor would be proud to have you. But you chose not to be, and it is well. You are cunning and resourceful, proud and somewhat ruthless. You are a _SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

_It was getting far too long, so I cut it here. Yes, there's a bombardment of new characters. It makes my head spin, too, trying to come up with the names. The Kaminogis are there for the laugh—people seem keen on adding Japanese name on English names, so why not give some Japanese characters some really wordy Japanese name?_

_For more info about my sorting decisions and etc. please see my homepage from the account. _


	3. Heart of the Snake

**Chapter 3:**** Heart of the Snake**

_The snake's ventricle is filled with mixed blood, but of course there's that thin membrane separating them._  


* * *

"_Lily told me you were nearly killed by the Slytherins."_

"_Oh, that. Well, no biggie. They're too stupid to accomplish that."_

"_But, transfiguring a toilet into a troll? Is something like that even possible? For one thing the troll is far too large and they even have some magical properties, so only a master in Transfiguration can pull that off since the amount of—"_

"_Okay, okay, I get your message! Merlin, Hugo, do you want to end up like Rose, always high-strung?"_

"_N-No! It's just odd, because you said Slytherins are troll-level idiots but then—"_

"_Oh, look, there's Norberta!"_

_James Potter and Hugo Weasley, Misinformation Session #34 _

* * *

It felt as though blood was rushing from her brain—her head felt numb and empty. She faintly heard the whisperings that had somehow penetrated her shell-shocked senses. A Weasley in Slytherin. The first Weasley to not be Sorted into Gryffindor in generations, as well as the first Weasley in their long history to be Sorted into Slytherin. 

_The Hat tricked me._

"_I did no such thing."_

The Hat had tricked her.

"_It is your own choice. Good luck."_

She snapped back to reality just as Professor Flitwick lifted the Hat off her and told her to go sit with her new Housemates. She didn't even dare to look at the Gryffindor table nor the Hufflepuff; she could almost see their faces: glee, perhaps, that she was as evil as they had long predicted her to be, and Al, perhaps even satisfied that she _was_cold and heartless enough to be one of the snakes.

"_If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disown you."_ Had it been a joke? Had it been a serious threat veiled by ease of tongue? Seeing their past history, she would not be entirely surprised if Mum sent the Howler the next morning...

She sat down at the table, not quite looking at her new Housemates either; her shoes were suddenly very interesting. She did not have to look up to know that they were all staring at her as though she was a lost urchin (and she probably was), or that they had been whispering and then abruptly stopped once she sat down. She noted that they scooted as much as the Gryffindors did for Malfoy.

How quaint, that the Malfoy and Weasley descendents should trade places.

Headmistress McGonagall must have risen for the whisperings died down, and began her speech. "Now that the Sorting is over, perhaps you would like to continue your discussions over the meal?" She waved her hand, and food suddenly emerged on the empty plates on each table. "As Dumbledore said, tuck in."

Rose couldn't help but stare. There were so many kinds of food she was sure even Dad wouldn't know which one not to eat. Staring was a mistake, however, because when she finally lifted her eyes she came face to face to a leering, wild-haired and smirking face of an older student sitting opposite of her.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" He drawled. "Never see this much food before? Your family breeds like rabbits, or better yet, weasels."

Stunned at being antagonised this early (and thus proving that sometimes James could tell the truth), she held back her retort. He, however, didn't seem to want to let it go.

"Well? Why're you here, anyway, to spy on us?" He sneered, showing pearly teeth. _Like a predator_. "Tell those redhead clan of yours that we'd slaughter you, Slytherin or not."

"They are my cousins." She had no idea why those were the words that jumped out of her mouth. Her brain had truly died that night from shock. She dimly realised that she should have been scared by this confrontation.

Another student from his side seemed to be unable to ignore them any longer. He elbowed the wild-haired boy, in jest or not she couldn't tell. "Yes, Montague, you idiot. She's a _Granger_-Weasley." He, too, gave her an appraising glance from top to bottom. It took all of her willpower not to squirm or change her blank face. "Well, well, well...So now your Mudblood of a mother wants to dissect the Montague and Lestrange family, eh?"

"Don't call her that!" She snarled, all shock and fear forgotten. Mum had once thrown that word to refer to herself lightly, but Dad had admonished her in a flash. Later Rose would find out what it meant: the pureblood's way of enslaving the Muggleborns.

Lestrange, for she was quite sure that was his name, sneered toothily. "Oh, look, she has some guts. The Sorting Hat is wrong after all." He leaned over the table, miraculously not knocking any of the piled food in the process while Montague was grinning like a crazed monkey. "You don't belong here, half-breed." His voice was barely audible under the chattering; it sent a tingle down her spine nonetheless. "Go back to your burrow." He righted himself perfectly and returned to eating as though nothing had happened; Montague cackled. Both boys had little time to be smug for a formidable-looking girl sitting next to Lestrange 'accidentally' rammed her elbow into his eyes. Lestrange howled, a string of curses shot out of his mouth.

"Oops, sorry," the girl said breezily. She was cutting a particularly solid piece of steak, an excuse to keep having her elbow going for Lestrange's eye. The boy swatted her.

"Shove off, Flint!" He yelled, attracting a bit of attention from the other students.

"Oi, keep it down, won't you?" A very pretty girl wearing the silver Prefect badge scowled. "Some of us are trying to eat."

"Yes, Ma'am," Flint answered with a smirk, turning to Lestrange. "Hear that? I'm trying to eat." Lestrange muttered incoherently under his breath. Beside him, Montague made a sound as if he was choking. Satisfied, Flint finally dissected a piece of her steak and jammed it into her mouth. "So, Weasley? Never mind those goons." Rose could only blink in response. "About time we have a Weasel or two in here. You play Quidditch?"

Before Rose could even reply, Montague guffawed with a full mouth, "You nuts, Flint?"

"Stark mad." Flint bit a particularly large piece. For a moment no one spoke; the two boys were obviously afraid of her to an extent for they waited for her answer. Finally she swallowed. "Half of Gryffindor's played by the Weasels. It's in their blood. So, did it skip you or not?" Her eyes bore into Rose. "And eat, for Salazar's mercy, the House Elves are too stupid to poison the food."

It took Rose a second to process that command before she loaded a little of everything within her reach onto her plate—after Flint's words had gotten through her brain, she discovered that her stomach was quite empty. Rose stole a glance at the people in front of her every few seconds as she ate—the older Weasleys' warnings about Slytherin kept repeating themselves in her head. _You're one now, idiot._ She viciously attacked her shepherd's pie just to vent some emotions. Flint, thankfully, was now engaged in a debate with a buck-toothed friend of hers while Montague and Lestrange were lost in their own discussions. No one paid more attention to her; she was not sure if she should interpret this as a good or bad sign.

Against her better judgement, she turned slightly in her seat to look at the far end table, where the cluster of red heads were bent together, occasionally one of them would point at her general direction without even looking at her--no doubt they were talking about her. Malfoy had a wide space around him, a fact that was only slightly comforting. On the next table, Al seemed to have blended in well--he was talking animatedly with another first-year. Once in a while, Al would look around at the Gryffindor table with as much subtlety as the longing look on his face. She returned to her own table, feeling a bit bitterer than before, only to find her neighbour, an Oriental girl, gazing at the Gryffindor in a manner very reminiscent of Al. This was the bizarrely named first-year, Rose realised, the one with a twin in Gryffindor. The Japanese caught her eyes and immediately ducked her head, seemingly embarrassed. For some reason Rose felt compelled to talk to her.

"You can still meet him in classes or in free times." Her neighbour looked up, her small eyes widened. "That's your twin brother, isn't he?" She nodded warily.

Unfortunately, Rose had reached the bottom of the things she could say list, so she resumed her supper. The Slytherin table, despite the rumours, was pretty loud and full of interactions, and therefore Rose thought she was just imagining it when her neighbour spoke.

"They...your family? Over there?" Rose couldn't respond immediately; her neighbour's English sounded odd and accentuated. Rose wondered where she came from--Japan, perhaps, seeing that her name was too polysyllabic compared to the few Chinese she knew; then she couldn't help but wonder what would make her come that far.

She nodded after a second, jerking her thumb backwards. "See those red heads? They are all my cousins. My name's Rose, by the way," she added after thinking that she needed to know the girl's name without exposing her inattentiveness.

"Izanami." It was very different from the way Professor Flitwick said it, and it was so foreign Rose tried repeating it in her mind just so that she could pronounce it right. "You can call me what you want," she added, apparently noticing Rose's predicament. "It is very difficult to say."

"I can't do that," Rose frowned, "it's your name. What do they call you at home?"

For some reasons she reddened. "Nami-chan." She pointed at her far off twin. "He's Nagi-kun." Seeing Rose's blank look she mumbled, "Sorry."

Rose seriously doubted the Sorting Hat's credibility now: this girl most certainly did not look like she was a Slytherin. "Don't apologise for something that's not your fault," she said curtly.

The girl looked like she wanted to apologise again; thankfully she stopped herself in time. "Okay...um...call me, uh, Iz?"

"No...they're probably considering Izzy for your brother." Rose bit her lip habitually. "Er, Izanami," she tried to parrot, "how's that?"

Izanami smiled, the first she had cracked since their conversation started. It was infectious--or Rose was just on the verge of breaking down and was desperate for any friendly gesture, no matter how little.

The plates of food had disappeared and been replaced by dinner. Rose spotted her favourite caramel pudding and helped herself to it. The rest of the Feast went on without anymore interruption, thankfully, though after her stomach was full her sombre and self-pitying mood returned. She was quite glad when the food and plates started disappearing, she couldn't wait to go to sleep. After the last piece of the dining apparatus had disappeared, Professor McGonagall stood up and gave a speech.

"Welcome to another new teaching year at Hogwarts. There are a few things I would like to remind you. The Forbidden Forest is, as it is named, not a student's stomping ground--students entering without teacher's permission or assistance shall be prosecuted accordingly.

Mr. Filch would like it to be known that any products of the Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze--" Here, the Weasleys and Potters grinned proudly. "--are banned from entering school grounds, as well as the Self-Delivering Posts.

Quidditch tryouts will be held the second week of September. Captains are required to book the Pitch with Madam Hooch and to follow the schedule.

Now I bid you good night."

Nearly in unison the students hopped onto their feet; Rose kept sitting until the Prefects called for the first-years. Reality came in a jumble of thoughts, so overwhelming they were that her feet were automatic in their movement and the little part of her that she controlled was still wondering when this dream would end. She thought she saw James staring at her, but when she turned around he was gesticulating to a friend of his, going to a different direction than her convoy of Slytherins. The Prefects brought them through a set of corridors and stairs heading towards underground—the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons.

She was a Slytherin. Hopefully Dad and Granddad Weasley wouldn't get a heart attack. And she still had to write home about this, before they heard the news from someone else. Rose felt like moaning out loud. Why, oh why, had she been stupid enough to choose 'not Gryffindor'? Her cousins would have a legal (or Weasley-legal) reason to ridicule her now, more than before, and her new Housemates seemed to be keen on avoiding her. Only Izanami was within reasonable distance, and then it was more likely because the Japanese was very much like a mouse than anything else.

They turned at a passage, and after a long walk, came to a pause in front of a stretch of empty wall. Rose glanced around. Was this really the entrance to the common room? Shouldn't there be a guardian of sort, if the common room was meant to be the secret sanctuary of each House?

"Alright, listen you midgets!" A male Prefect bellowed from the very front of the line. The other Prefect, the one who had reprimanded Lestrange earlier, elbowed him. The Slytherins loved elbowing each other as it seemed. "Just give the password here."

There were a few seconds of silence until the second Prefect snarled, "The password, you idiot!"

"Oh, right." He flashed them a wide grin as though he was sharing them a private joke. When nobody laughed he said to the wall, "_Tojous Pur_." A door, concealed as the wall, slid open. The Prefect stepped aside and bowed as the first-years filed in.

The common room was a low, long room with green lights hanging from the ceiling, giving the entire room an ethereal green glow which reminded Rose that they were, indeed, under the lake. There was a large fire, also green, under a very elaborate mantelpiece surrounded by high-backed chairs. The floor was covered in green hearth that, when she focused enough, had a pattern that looked like the paths left by a slithering snake; at the very least those patterns had silver tinge.

Slytherin's world was a green world; much to her dismay she found it rather comfortable and soothing.

"Right, then, girls' dormitory is on the left, and blokes' is to the right, don't try going into the wrong dormitory, or else."

Some of the first-years giggled. "What else?"

The male Prefect winked. "Well, for girls, you'd—"

"Sock it, Bagman," the female Prefect cut harshly, though her eyes were twinkling, "don't spoil the fun."

This time the older students situated around the fireplace cackled along with the two Prefects. The group disbanded; Rose noticed that they were practically running away from her, and many of the older students threw unfriendly glances at her. Here was where the Weasley name was synonymous with things dirtier than mud--how in Merlin's pants did the Hat expect her to thrive, or even to just survive?

_"Don't jump into conclusions, Rose. It's a bad habit." _ Thinking of Mum's advice reminded her that she still had to write a letter home. It would be easier if the Sorting's result didn't have to be the news Mum and Dad wanted to see the most...

"Oy, Weasley!"

She turned around sharply to come face to face with a familiar dark-skinned boy. Murtaugh Elsworth, a classmate in her primary school. He had an unidentifiable smirk on his face which brought not-so-happy memories of her early school years.

"What do you want?" She snapped, a bit surprised at how tired she sounded.

He probably noticed this, for his smirk slipped off and was replaced by a slight frown. "Just saying hello to a fellow half-blood and Mrs. Wood-graduate." The smirk returned. "Come to think of it, they say you're the first Weasley in centuries to sleep in here."

She tightened her jaws before answering as calmly as possible, "What of it?"

Murtaugh shrugged. "Fine by me. Your cousins, on the other hand--"

"Don't talk as if you know about us," Rose snarled, all attempts of self-restraint abandoned. She glared straight into his eyes. It had the desired effect, he backed off, flustered.

"A-Alright! Keep your glasses on." He chuckled at his own words, though it actually agitated Rose more than she thought she would--she found herself trying to bore holes into his eyes with her stare. Murtaugh's face didn't change as he back paddled clumsily, stumbling into a very large older student who took it as a great offense. Rose slipped through the commotion, as satisfying as it was to watch Murtaugh trying to get away with having a 'thoroughly idiotic and waste of space face.' It bothered her that it might have been more of Murtaugh's blood status than the accident that was the cause--the former meant that she would also have to face that lynching someday.

Whoever thought that it was wise to let a battered and smelly hat to decide the future of the students should be subjected to Fred and James' brand of humour, Mum's lengthy lectures, and then fed to Norberta, she thought as she descended down the stairs leading to her new room. There, beyond two flights of stairs, was a carved (snake patterns, again) door with a glowing text '_First Year'_ on it. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was huge; it was probably twice the size of her room, Hugo's, and Mum and Dad's put together. There was a wardrobe (wooden, snake-carved) on one side of the walls, a door that presumably lead to the bathroom, a full-size mirror (with snake designs, no less), and three poster beds, each with their own green and silver heavy curtains. The lack of windows as well as the reflection of the light made by the glowing green bulb on the ceiling was a dead ringer that she was currently underground, under a lake, the direct opposite of the tower where Gryffindors dwelled.

Her two new roommates were already in the room, both of them were unpacking and arranging their belongings on the areas they each had apparently claimed as their own, and they both stopped to look at her as she entered. Izanami offered Rose a small smile, but the other one's expression was not unlike Mum's when she was trying not to slander an unpleasant client more than Dad. Rose was suddenly grateful there would only be two occupants of the room—it was never pleasant to sleep in the same room with people who hated her.

The other girl—black haired and rather thin and short compared to Rose—nodded at her in recognition, pointing at the bed in the middle. Rose's trunk was on it. "That's yours." _And this is mine, so keep out_ was not said, but was understood by both of them. Rose didn't mind as she was not too keen on making new acquaintances at the moment. The two others resumed their unpacking while Rose just bent over her opened trunk lazily. Should she really unpack now? It seemed to be easier to just keep everything in her trunk. She sorted through the pile anyway (very neatly packed by Mum) for items important enough to be kept near her bed. She piled the books and other school necessities under her bed, set aside her pyjama, and was about to close the trunk when she came across a photo frame. It was taken fairly recently, just before Rose decided to cut her hair as short as it was now. Rose had, in an epiphany that she would soon be leaving her family for a long period of time, asked that they took a photograph simply to have a physical proof of what family was—the four of them smiling and waving in front of their home in Godric's Hollow. She put the frame on her bedside drawer with a heavy heart; she had missed them already.

"You're Rosalind Granger-Weasley, right?" The speaker's voice, scratchy and ear-grating, reminded her of her present, which didn't help her home-sickness. "Daughter of the Ministry's Chief Prosecutor and Deputy Head of Aurors?" All wistfulness was forgotten as she remembered, slightly too late, that many Slytherins were related to the Death Eaters, and that her family was responsible for their downfall. Rose straightened, bracing for any of the possible outcomes.

"Yes I am," she all but snapped back. Really, was it too much to ask to just leave her alone for the night?

The faint rustling behind her stopped while the one in front also drew herself to her full height and jutted her chin out slightly, perhaps in hopes to meet Rose's eyes and make her look more intimidating.

"I am merely curious," she drawled in the air of someone explaining trigonometry to a toddler. "There are at least ten Weasleys (and two Potters) from five Weasley families in Hogwarts." her lips, thick and red, curled. " Only one of them is in Slytherin. Pardon me if I find you interesting."

The part of Rose that could think under any situations was slightly amused that for once people didn't immediately link her to Uncle Harry. The other part, the volatile and reactive one, was fortunately too weary to lash out. Her best comeback was a curt, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, then." She proceeded to look away and changed into pyjama, though she was aware that the British Slytherin was still sparing her an odd glance. After haphazardly folding her school uniform, Rose sat down first, testing the mattress. Despite it being as old as the Hat, it was obviously better managed as the springs underneath was still able to support her body. She lied down, by doing so noticing, for the first time, that the ceiling too was carved, though this one was patterned with snakes and occasionally other symbols of the Founders. _Perhaps even Salazar Slytherin recognised the need for unity._

She gripped her glasses tightly, eyes flitting between the two other girls to see what they were doing. Izanami was trying to push her head through her pyjama while the other one (Selwyn?) was gone, presumably to the bathroom. Rose closed her eyes, slowly removing the charmed glasses. She allowed herself to squint just so that she didn't misplace the glasses—it was then placed just beside the photo frame. Rose took one last glance, a bit too long for her taste, at the four beaming faces. She turned around, eyes shut tightly.

This place was too quite. Usually, at this hour Hugo would be either running around to evade Dad's attempt to tuck him into bed or sneaking away to the library. Dad would stop by to say good night, or to make a joke and tell a story of his past. No matter how late she came home, Mum would always manage to kiss her goodnight, or when they were both still awake a while before her curfew, Mum would coerce Rose to share her problems (which, now that she thought about it, seemed to always happen whenever Rose had a problem worth crying over). None of those now. From now on, Rose would be sleeping in a room with a shy Japanese whose English was a far cry from fluent and a Death Eater relative who potentially held a grudge over her family. On top of it all, the rest of her extended family, no matter how much Rose had never been a part of them, was in a house that happened to have a lifetime rivalry bordering on war.

_What of family, now? _The nuclear family, the one most important to her, was far away. The one cousin she cared for like her own self hated her. The cousins, who had always been not too kind to her now had even more reasons, valid ones at that, to properly hate her. The extended family...well, look at how their spawns turned out.

_What of family?_

The two other beds creaked as their occupants sank into them. Rose rubbed her forehead, still with eyes closed. She let out a very long and lamenting breath.

"_Don't jump into conclusion, Rose. It's a bad habit."_

Oh, what she would give just to have Mum lecture her on anything, even on the mess she had made with Mum's trunk arrangement.

* * *

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	4. Tabula Rasa

**Chapter 4: ****Tabula Rasa**

_It is not so much starting anew as changing references. Who ever forgets?_

* * *

_Aw, isn't he a cutie?_

_"It's tiny, noisy, and it bounces around — it's not cute, Dad."_

_"Now, Rosie, he's not at all bad. See, he likes you. Anyone who does can't be that bad."_

_"You're just saying that because you're my father."_

_"Precisely. We, your mother, Hugo, and I will always love you no matter what."_

_Ron and Rose Weasley, One Weasley Evening #588_

* * *

Her sleep was punctuated by lapses between conscious and not; at six o' clock sharp (according to her watch) her eyes snapped open, no longer able to pretend they were trying to give her some rest. For a moment she wondered how James could have snuck into her room and re-painted the walls before remembering that she was now in the Slytherin dormitory. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nightmare to go away; it was still there when she opened her eyes again. Rose huffed, but rolled out of her bed anyway—as much as she felt she needed more sleep, there was a sense of urgency at the back of her mind that kept her widely awake. In a habit she kept her eyes closed until her glasses were safely perched in front of her eyes, and then she surveyed the room. Her two roommates were sleeping soundlessly.

Rose grabbed her school robe; it had had the silver snake crest sewn on the front as well as the green and silver linings added. She tossed it back under her bed, opting to wear Muggle shirt and jeans instead. In the same automated process she grabbed her small but important bag and went to the common room. It was nearly deserted save for one older witch sitting in a corner, reading a musty tome. Rose hesitated before took a seat near the large bonfire; it was soft and comfortable, though she had an odd sense that it was not quite what she had expected. She produced a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from her bag, and began writing the dreaded letter home.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

It stopped there for a long time. Which should it be, pretend that her Sorting was as normal as others, or pretend—or more likely exaggerate—that she felt victimised? Should she just write about everything else and conveniently forgot about including her Sorting? She would have gone that path had it not been for her almost-a-dozen of cousins who, some more than others, were more than delighted to slander her; it didn't help that the Sorting was probably all parents' biggest concern for the first-years. Then, should she write down the reason? Dad would have a fit; he had a certain fondness for carrying family traditions.

Really, family could be such a burden sometimes.

The evil thought was gone as soon as it appeared, and by the time the letter was finished, there were stacks of crumpled pieces of parchment around her. When she stretched and looked around several people stared back in their distinct and visible manners. She ignored them, re-reading the letter for the final time.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_You're right, Hogwarts is best seen dir__ectly instead of just read about__Y__ou __can tell Hugo that I won't __give him__any details about Hogwarts and that __he had better __not__ badger me__ I met a Muggleborn named__Zoltán Granger, now a Ravenclaw. While your surname is not uncommon, and he also didn't look like you, I can't help but wonder if he is related to you or Grandpa Granger in some ways. _

_We met Scorpius Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express and had slight arguments with James. Al and I also had another argument, actually, because Al sympathised with Malfoy and I did not—I thought he looked suspicious. I haven't talked with any of my cousins since then, actually. Malfoy was Sorted into Gryffindor, Al is in Hufflepuff, and I'm in Slytherin. _

_The Weasleys are not exactly friendly with the Slytherins; I think I can blame my cousins for that. They are not all as nasty as you said, Dad; at the very least my roommates seem nice._

_That's all from me. I'm looking forward to hear back from you soon._

_Rose_

It was after rolling the parchment and sealing it with a tap of her wand that Rose realised she had absolutely no idea where the Owlery was nor did she have someone reliable to point the way. She glanced around the common room: most of the older students did not even seem to realise she was there. Rose set her feet on moving anyway—Dad had said that the more she stumbled around, the better she would be at eluding Filch.

She was only halfway through the common room when she heard someone mumbling and another person cleared their throat behind her. Rose turned around and was rather surprised to see Eleanor and Izanami standing side by side, the latter smiling bashfully while the former had something akin to a smirk on her face. They were both wearing their school robes, a stark contrast to her Muggle clothing—maybe that was why Eleanor sniffed slightly.

"I have a letter to deliver," Eleanor said, gesturing to a scroll she had in one hand. So did Izanami, after a more careful observation.

Rose nodded uncertainly. She continued walking. Half a minute later, when they were strolling down the halls leading to the Great Hall, Rose realised that, for all her pompous way of announcing herself, both Eleanor and Izanami seemed content to simply trail behind Rose. Feeling awkward, Rose turned her head slightly and said, "Do you know where to go?"

The same annoying smirk graced Eleanor's lips as she drawled, "Of course. It was just last night that they led us to the common room from there."

They turned at a corner and went down another stretch of hall. "From The Owlery?" Rose replied, a bit puzzled.

Eleanor's smirk was very pronounced. "My owl is very intelligent so it knows to meet me on my table this morning."

She could feel the back of her neck heating up. "Oh." Evidently they had been talking about different things the whole time.

"I need to go to the Owlery," Izanami muttered suddenly. She flushed. "Nagi—Izanagi—wake up early, so..."

"He has probably already used your owl," Rose finished, with a wary glance at Eleanor's upturned nose. She should probably rectify her letter regarding nice roommates. "Yeah, let's go."

Eleanor, in fact, continued to trail Rose up the grand staircase, until on the second landing Rose couldn't resist and asked, "I thought the Great Hall was located on the ground floor?"

Eleanor, three steps below her, replied, "You thought correctly. I simply want to complete my knowledge of Hogwarts."

It made sense, but Rose couldn't get rid of the lingering paranoia that Eleanor was planning something.

So far they hadn't encountered many sentient beings apart from one or two older students who didn't even notice them; the portraits too were mostly sleeping. Rose really didn't want to show Eleanor that she was incompetent, but they were already at the first floor without much destination apart from a logical reasoning that a room for owls must be located in one of the towers —

Rose yelped and would have fallen down the stairs had she not grabbed the railing: it was as if she had just walked through a cascade of icy water. She panted and whirled around. It was a ghost of a man with an extraordinary rumple on his neck. Rose involuntarily shuddered—walking through a ghost was definitely uncomfortable.

"Pardon me; it seems I have been lost in my thoughts again." The ghost sounded as though he was an echo of another world. His head bobbed slightly as he talked, and Rose was startled when she realised that the neck parted with each bob. "I am Sir Nicholas de Mimpsy-Porpington, Gryffindor's ghost. Pardon me miss, but you do look familiar and yet I am convinced I did not see you at our table yesterday..."

Rose glanced through him: her two companions were talking among themselves and ignoring her. She looked back at the ghost warily. "That's...I'm not a Gryffindor."

The ghost's eyes widened in recognition and his head fell off to on side—or nearly, as it was suspended by an inch of skin. He pushed his head back, fastened it with his ruff and said, "By George, you are the Slytherin." Rose, startled yet again, nodded numbly. The ghost ploughed on, "I know your parents, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, your uncle Harry Potter—I know all of the Weasleys born after the fifteenth century and nearly all of them have been in Gryffindor. Tell me." He paused when his head formed the fourty-fifth degree to the horizontal and flicked it back upright.

It was in this opening that Rose finally spoke, "You'll have to ask the Hat, Sir, as it was its decision." Through Sir Nicholas it was apparent that Eleanor had finally acknowledged them albeit with an impatient air. She looked back at the ghost with a straight face. "I'm just wondering, Sir, if you could point out where the Owlery is."

Sir Nicholas's brows shot up. "There's no need to call me 'Sir' (not when it holds no meaning, alas, time flies by so fast!). As for the Owlery, you can follow me, if." He jerked his head slightly, though thankfully it stayed on his neck. "You don't mind being seen with a Gryffindor."

"My family is Gryffindor through and through, Sir," she deadpanned, feeling she was entitled to be rather flippant, "I am looking forward to seeing them, as a matter of fact." Though the same couldn't be said about her cousins, but he didn't need to know that.

Sir Nicholas nodded within his ruff "I should hope so. Right, this way, Rosalind." He glided before her; he oddly went as though he had legs and couldn't just float straight through the obstacles.

"Rose," she corrected automatically while half-jogging—Sir Nicholas seemed to have forgotten either that he was guiding someone or that the ones he was guiding were first-years. It turned out to be quite the exercise just to move beside him, doubly so because she had to climb through a lot of sets of stairs. At around the third floor, Sir Nicholas stopped, muttering to himself, "Now where's that..." Rose had barely caught up before he snapped his ghastly fingers and went off into a corridor somewhere in the west.

She wondered if he was deliberately confusing the Slytherins.

Sir Nicholas took them through a tapestry—depicting a man with turban in front of a cave—on one of the empty corridors ("Just tap and say 'Open Sesame', whatever that meant.") which revealed a staircase and they soon came out through another tapestry (of racing horses, of all things). He took them across the hall, past the bust of Herpo the Foul ("Don't ask. Just, don't ask how it got there. You could ask the Bloody Baron, actually."), around the corner and up a set of moving stairs. She was very much out of breath by the time they got past tapestry of someone teaching trolls how to dance (and then died of getting clubbed by the trolls) when Sir Nicholas inexplicably stopped to revere a section of the corridor. When she was finally close enough to see his eyes aimed at her, he muttered, "A good lot. Perhaps..."

"Pardon?" She wheezed, bending over slightly and looking at the wall in front of Sir Nicholas. It looked as though it was a re-constructed like a jigsaw puzzle with obvious spider-web gaps among the pieces. On the wall was a plank which read

_Frederick Gideon Weasley_

_1978 – 1998_

_Don't blow up __too much of the heaven without us_

Rose gaped at the plaque, feeling nonplussed. The family would rarely mention an Uncle Fred who had died in the war-that-must-not-be-mentioned, lest the mood of the room should be sombre and everyone would look apprehensively at Uncle George. The cousins had long learned that the topic was too grim to be mentioned. That line, though...'blow up the heaven'? Who in Merlin's pants would say something that, well, crass?

"Never mind that," Sir Nicholas said, breaking Rose out of her stupor, "We are close now."

He glided off, though this time Rose ran so that they were side by side. "Hang on! What did you mean — " She was cut off as Sir Nicholas effortlessly floated over a hole on the floor while Rose nearly fell into it in her chase. After jumping over the hole and catching up to Sir Nicholas again she continued, " — Not important?"

The ghost turned his head, his face politely confused. "I beg your pardon?" His speed was decreased slightly. Rose breathed a bit too much in relief.

"That plaque!" She jabbed a finger over her shoulder. "What does that mean? He's dead, and they make a joke out of it?"

In an instant, Sir Nicholas was in front of her. He glided backwards, and she was slightly annoyed that she couldn't see what was ahead. "I have no idea what they have been telling you children, but it was your family who asked for that carving."

Rose's eyes widened. Sir Nicholas nodded as much as he could in his rumple. "Indeed. Death is not to be feared — to be eternally rested, as well as united (because I know for a fact that none of your noble family would choose a fate like mine)."

Rose stared at him. He stared back, as intensely as a pale ghost could. "Mind you, it is not so much giving up as having a faith, and therefore hope, to look forward to. Not," he chuckled somewhat bitterly, "that I've ever known that luxury."

She opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it again. Sir Nicholas sighed, looking over her shoulders. He suddenly stopped. "You are too young to understand. But we have dawdled enough." Looking over her shoulder, Eleanor and Izanami had finally caught up with them; the former had abandoned her refined air and resorted to scowling like an angry Weasley cousin would.

Sir Nicholas bowed and hovered aside, gesturing to a simple wooden door previously concealed by his body. "The Owlery."

"Well then, thank you for your service," Eleanor said dismissively.

Sir Nicholas didn't budge."I beg your pardon?" He said, dangerously indignant. "I'll have you know that I normally don't help Slytherins."

"That's why we're grateful, Sir Nicholas," Rose interrupted. Seeing as Eleanor was about to rebut, she sent her a brief glare before looking back at Sir Nicholas, hopefully looking sincere. "I personally thank you for taking up your time."

Sir Nicholas's features softened somewhat. "Oh, is that so?" He glanced at Eleanor, who stared back defiantly, before re-focusing back on Rose with an inexplicable expression. "I shall excuse myself, then." He drifted through the wall.

Just as the last of Sir Nicholas's robe disappeared, Eleanor turned to Rose. They had just locked eyes when Sir Nicholas's head re-appeared (all three yelped). Sir Nicholas looked slightly amused. He said to Rose, "Your nature and nurture currently equal each other, so I am willing to know you with a blank slate." He nodded and disappeared, leaving Rose to be thoroughly perplexed. Nature and nurture? Blank slate?

Eleanor's huff broke her musing. She and Rose looked at each other with varying degrees of exasperation.

"After you," Eleanor said snappishly. Rose, not in the mood to talk, simply went to the door and opened it. The Owlery was a circular room with many windows and hay covering the floor. Overhead, all the way to the nearly unperceivable ceiling, were around a hundred of owls of all species, all of them sleeping, and some of them hooted and flapped their wings when she opened the door. Closer to the ground, there was also a very familiar yelp.

"Rose!" Al gasped from the floor. Rose's attention was not on him, but on Malfoy, who was standing next to Al with a slightly flustered look that smoothed rather quickly. Not even Al could have been so surprised by the sound of the door that he had fallen on his rear, so she wondered irritably what the two of them had been doing. For that matter, what had _Al _had to do with _Malfoy_. Maybe Malfoy had hexed or threatened him.

"Weasley," Malfoy greeted coolly. She just gave him a stiff nod. Malfoy paid her no mind, for he was now staring at something behind her.

"Um, hi," Al said squeakily, getting up to his feet. He approached Eleanor and Izanami tentatively. "Um, I'm Albus Potter."

Eleanor looked at him with such haughtiness that Al cringed and Rose sympathised with him. Then Eleanor turned her attention to Scorpius, then back to Al. She pursed her lips together.

"Oh, my, Malfoy," she said, "Sucking up to a Potter, now? How low has your family fallen."

Malfoy's lips formed a lopsided sneer. "And you, Selwyn? A half-blood Weasley? Surely you could do better than that."

"Scor!" Al stepped back, looking aghastly at Scorpius. "I thought — "

Malfoy blinked, his sneer slipping off. Eleanor smirked. Rose sighed mentally.

"Be quiet," she muttered to Eleanor.

The pureblood looked taken aback for once. "What?"

Rose looked at her in the eyes. "He's not worth your time." To prove her point, she forced herself not to look at Malfoy as she strode to the nearest owl perch, where Cantabile had apparently chosen to sleep. Rose grabbed at Cantabile with slightly more force than necessary. Cantabile squeaked as he struggled against her grip. Rose absently loosened it even as her mind went back to Al and Malfoy. _Malfoy_, she thought, _he couldn't just leave me with Al, could he? _She cried out when something sharp poked her palm. Rose let go of her owl and it twittered, flying to a perch that was very well out of her reach. She cursed mentally with words that would never be said in front of Mum — how was she going to deliver her letter now? "Come down here, stupid bird," she muttered, glaring at the owl. Cantabile suddenly dove toward her (his wings were still folded), and when Rose caught him it was like catching a tennis ball spewed by a serving machine. The owl twittered as Rose tied the letter to his feet with forced gentleness.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled to the owl, shakily stroking his head with her non-smarting hand. "It's Malfoy, you see. Er, could you just deliver this to Mum? You don't—you don't have to come back if you want." As she said it, she realised how stupid it was to let her pet, the connection between her parents and her, decide the future of said connection. Though maybe if Cantabile went on strike Rose wouldn't have to find out Dad's response...

Cantabile hooted, nibbling at her thumb rather harshly. Rose sighed and dropped the bird. He fell halfway to the ground before regaining his preferred height. Rose watched Cantabile, slightly paranoid that the others, who had been oddly silent, were not-so-discreetly observing her. She turned around slowly to find that most of them were either tying their letter or petting their owl. She found herself narrowing her eyes at Al, who had a little problem tying his letter around an impatient Aetherion's foot. What had he been doing before, flirting with Malfoy?

There was a squawk and a girlish shriek. Rose giggled when she saw Malfoy sitting on the hay-covered floo with tousled hair and a barn owl (his, most likely) floating tauntingly above him. Her lips flattened when Al rushed to Malfoy, coaxed his owl to come down, and tied Malfoy's letter as the blonde got up and cleaned himself.

Eleanor was the one who spoke, "Oh, Malfoy, I've underestimated you. Looks like you've got yourself a minion; a Potter to boot."

Al stared at her, slack-jawed as Malfoy had the grace to glow rather pink. Al turned to Rose, his eyes wide and pleading. Rose's eyes only spent a second on Al's before glaring at Eleanor, who looked back with a twisted eagerness.

"Shut it," Rose hissed, walking past Al and willing herself not to look at those doleful green eyes. She paused briefly in front of Eleanor, drawing herself to her full height. "Didn't you hear me? He's not worth it."

As Rose exited the Owlery, she felt as though she had just left a part of heart with Al.

Returning alone was perhaps not the brightest of ideas since she got lost at practically every turn and somehow wound up on Ravenclaw's tower. A kind Ravenclaw prefect wrote her down at least a foot-long parchment of possible routes to the Great Hall (the Prefect owed Victoire something very big, seeing as he kept asking her about the oldest Weasley cousin). By the time Rose arrived at the Great Hall, it was already lunch time and her stomach had been growling so loudly she could have sworn the sound must have echoed around the corridors. When she sat down on the Slytherin table, many of the occupants gave her a brief glance, but all of them left her alone. She didn't mind; her socialising mood had evaporated.

She spent the rest of Saturday reading her textbooks inside her room for the lack of better things to do. She didn't get further than the tenth page of _The Darkness Out There _before her mind drifted for the umpteenth time to everything but the basics of duelling. Al's face kept appearing in her mind's eye, so she kept telling herself that Al was the one who chose Malfoy over her (_some loyal Hufflepuff he is_). Worse than that, he chose Malfoy, the one person Dad had specifically told her to not get too friendly with. Rose dumped herself onto her bed. She stared at the ceiling and wondered if Malfoy had hexed him. Al was usually the obedient and meek one, not the one to start up a rebellious friendship...

_"Mudblood. Blood traitor. You don't belong here."_

_A crowd, all of them glowing green like the depths of a lake, and all of them having red eyes._

_"Yeah, I don't think she's a Weasley. I mean, did you see her eyes?"_

_An __army of __redheaded children screeched__ in a horrifying__ resonance akin to chalks scraping a blackboard._

_"I know! Like a monster! Hey, do you think the Basilisk has eyes like those?"_

"Ow!"

She had somehow done something — hit the bedside cabinet, apparently — that made her forehead stung. Rose shot up, feeling as though she was late for something important. As soon as she tried to remember, she noticed that the room was dark — hadn't it been lighter a moment before? Then light wheezing sounds reached her ears, coming from her roommates, and with great irritation she realised that it must have been some time around midnight — a quick look at the watch still on her wrist confirmed that it was three in the morning. Her body was as magnificent as always: refusing to go to sleep when it was night, and therefore resting time and going unconscious at the time she was supposed to be awake. She contemplated trying to go back to sleep, but memories of the Muggle tale of the dilligent ants and the lazy grasshopper banished that idea (and anyway she felt too wide awake to do that). She rolled out of her bed, put on her glasses, and silently dragged her feet up to the common room.

The common room was as dim as her room, much to her relief, because it meant that there was no other person around. Rose aimlessly wandered around the room, having never had a chance to explore it without people staring. The rugged floor was surprisingly warm; the couches and the sofas were comfortable and clean; the crackling green flame didn't blind the eyes, even giving off a soothing air. Rose stared at it, slightly mesmerised. In a rather detached fashion, a part of her acknowledged that there was something mundane and natural about this situation that made everyone's aversion to Slytherin highly ridiculous—

Rose started; there was a sound of hard surfaces rubbing together not too far from her. Her hand automatically went to her wand—who at this time of the night—

It was a human male much taller than Rose — a Slytherin, judging by the robes he wore. As he came closer to the light, she could see that his face looked harmless. In fact, his smile was pleasant.

"Shouldn't you be getting some rest?" He said, his voice was gentle and it calmed Rose. "Growing kids need their sleep." It struck her, a lot too late, that this was Slytherin's common room and such only Slytherins could be in it. It made her wary again.

He was now standing quite close to her, and she had to crane her head to look at him. It was a pain in the neck. "I can't sleep," she replied honestly.

He kneeled and suddenly his worried face was very close to hers. "Oh. Do you miss your parents?"

Rose looked down, her lips pouting on their own. "Not really—eep!"

He suddenly picked her up by the hips and sat her on the closest armchair while he sat on the footrest. When Rose gaped at him he grinned.

"To save your poor neck." He stuck out his hand. "Cadmus Rowle."

She took it tentatively. "Rose Weasley."

Cadmus cocked his head, shaking her hand. "Flitwick called you something else."

His hand was strong, but not as cold as she had imagined. Her ears were starting to get warm. "Er, that. I think it's..." she let go of his hand to fix her glasses. "It's my Nana's name, and double-barreled names are..."

He nodded, and she stopped babbling, suddenly finding the armrest very interesting. She flinched when he reached for her hand, but didn't withdraw.

"See," he said calmly, patting her hand, "You're one of us now. Slytherins take care of their own. I'm not bluffing," he added solemnly at her skeptical look.

"My cousins said Slytherins eat everyone, even their own kind," Rose mumbled, not looking at him.

She was thrown off when he barked a laughter. "They would," he said between his gleeful fits, "your cousins are all Gryffindors. I'd say that they are all reckless and loud, except that it's true."

She was about to retort, but his confident demeanor forced her to re-think, and she found that she agreed with this sentiment. The Weasleys, no matter who their mothers were, did have a penchant for trouble.

He laughed again when she said it. "Obviously. If there's ever any family descended from Godric Gryffindor himself, it's yours. But you." He stopped laughing, staring at her. "You're not like them."

Upset, Rose yelled, "I'm not—"

He held out his hand, and she stopped, becoming painfully aware of her quickened breathing. "I meant," he said slowly, "that you're smarter than them." Again, Rose was at a lost. He smirked. "We Slytherins don't charge into trouble head on. We think—and we conquer without losing too much."

She still stared at him. He sighed, looking at the grand clock beside the fireplace. "How about this: you can go back to sleep now, and this afternoon I'll show you around Hogwarts. The first rule to surviving Hogwarts is to know the castle inside and out."

Remembering her earlier run-in with Sir Nicholas, she replied, "You'd do that?"

He grinned and winked. "You might as well as make an Unbreakable Vow with me. See you tomorrow, Red."

"Red?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's what your name means, isn't it? Unless you want to be a horse instead, like the other way to define it?"

"Um…"

He tapped his chin, looking mildly thoughtful. "Yeah, that fits. Red Snake, Slytherin's Weasley."

Rose's ears and face were as hot as the crackling fire near them. "Just call me Rose," she said, horrified by the whining sound of her voice.

Cadmus laughed again, though he refused to reply to her. Rose sunk deeper into the armchair and stared at the green fire. Maybe, just maybe, it would be alright after all.

Rose the cynic retorted, '_For ten minutes._


End file.
